Nar Shaddaa Rising
by Frank Hunter
Summary: Nyk and Pessa are two criminals on a world of criminals, working together to survive the scum-ridden streets of the Smugglers' Moon. It's the only life they've ever known. So, when the chance to escape the dreary wastes of Nar Shaddaa, the chance to start a better life, presents itself, can they rise to the opportunity?
**Nar Shaddaa Rising
Chapter 1: Around Back  
**By, Frank Hunter

The Galaxy was a large and expansive space that Nyk Reeco, in her scant 19 years, could not even begin to imagine. She had never seen any of it in person beyond the moon on which she'd been born. But even the pictures she'd found on the Holonet, those of the steel desert graveyards of Jakku, or the molten smoking wastes of Sullust, did little more than solidify the one belief she held above all others: that of all the places in the wide Galaxy, Nar Shadda was the worst.

The "Smugglers' Moon," as it was called by those who did their business there, held that mantle because, at its very core, it was nothing but a grotesque lie. The unending urban sprawl that covered the moon's surface was teeming with life, true. And there was work to be had, even on the lower levels if you weren't afraid to get your hands dirty. But the lie of Nar Shaddaa was in its civilization, because although all the pieces were there that would _make_ it civilized, there was nothing civil about the place. And there was no real chance for the unfortunate souls who dwelt there to eek out an actual life.

Still, that didn't stop them from trying. Hope, Nyk found, even in the direst of situations, was near impossible to quell.

Nyk's feet were pounding down the cement and durasteel sidewalks familiar to her on this stretch of Level 337. She rounded a tight corner, dodging the neon glare and loose throng on the street, and came up to the back door of the Crown Jewel Casino, which was where she did her business. Nyk had never been afraid to get her hands dirty.

She pounded one of her glove-clad fists against the steel door. The resulting clang was an empty sound, like the rattling of a spoon against a tin can. Cheap metal set into a cheap frame and blessed with the illusion of security to ward off vagrants and wanna-be vandals. She was surprised it didn't dent under the force.

When no one answered, she clenched her fists more tightly and bashed again. "C'mon Cresdo, hup to!" she shouted at the closed door. "I know you're back there!"

Her other fist hung at her side, snaked with the cords and cables of her prize. She kept her grip tight on those, even though she could feel the oils and lubricants from its inner workings seeping into her glove. The stuff would never wash out, but at that moment the discomfort of a slick, greasy glove was the last thing on her mind. First and foremost was what the thing, the chrome-clad skull with its empty eye-sockets and silent mechanisms, would net her. Food. A bath, maybe. It wasn't beyond hope.

She was about to pound again when she heard a latch slide from inside the door, and took a step backward instead. Hinges creaked as the rusty metal slab was pulled inward and a sliver of light flooded out along the ground. For an instant, it illuminated a street vrelt that had sidled up to her boot, and despite herself, she almost jumped in surprise at the sight of the creature. The vrelt, even more alarmed, let out a sharp screech and tore away into the relative safety of a nearby trash pile. This alley was as filthy as most others on the lower levels of Nar Shaddaa. Sanitation had left these dark places behind long ago, and Nyk expected that the tight spaces and clutters of debris and trash served as shelter to any number of vrelts and other vermin that might make their homes here. Perhaps even some truly unfortunate sentients.

She tried to keep that image from her mind. Instead, she focused on the face that emerged from the cold light of the building, floating on the muffled melodies of familiar slitherhorn music from inside the casino proper.

"You've been forcing me to play this game every single time," Nyk said as her eyes adjusted to the glare. "It's getting real old."

Cresdo's features gradually came into view. He was an Ishi Tib, and an abnormally large one at that. His face was an unwieldy conglomeration of eyestalks and skin flaps, his complexion a repulsive puke green. And as he spotted Nyk down at his chest level, his enormous beak slid ever so slightly open in that distinctive scowl of disapproval she'd come to expect from him. The sight of his gaping maw didn't do much to improve the view.

He spoke, and the language that beak produced came nowhere close to the clarity of standard Galactic Basic. But, through years of these sorts of dealings, Nyk had come to understand a few dialects of gutterspeak well enough to get by in the slums. The Ishi Tib variety wasn't even the worst.

"D'jannon is busy," he said, ignoring her protests right out of the gate.

Nyk bit back the instant retort. _One day,_ she swore to herself, _I'm gonna deck this ugly sack of pus right in his hideous gob._

"D'jannon is never too busy for someone coming to collect," she told him, not for the first or even the fourteenth time. To emphasize her point, she held up the oil drenched skull over her head, where its upside-down eyes would be able to meet those of the Ishi Tib.

Cresdo regarded it. "Am I meant to be impressed?" he asked.

"I don't care if you are," she said, dropping the skull back to her side. Habit put her fingers within reach of the trusty blaster pistol slung low on her waist. Not that it would be any good to her with this thing wrapped around her hand.

"This is S3-RL," she pushed on. "You can check the serial number stamped on the jaw if you want, but this is him. I saw the bounty posted last week. I dropped the mark an hour ago. Now I'm here to collect."

Cresdo went right on regarding and made no move to clear out of the doorway.

"You want I should go around front?" Nyk asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Don't even joke about that," Cresdo said.

"Then let. Me. In."

The silence of the stand-off perpetuated for another several moments, long enough for Nyk to wonder if she really would have to shoot the scumbag to make any headway at all, when another voice finally rolled out of the open doorway. This one, accented but clearly Basic, sounded as exhausted as Nyk herself felt.

"Fo' God's sake, Cress, would'ja let'r inside already? We all know what a solid-gold twit y'are. No need to further the point."

Cresdo's beak opened slightly wider, but to Nyk's relief, he did what the voice bade. The door opened a little further to match the beak, and he stood aside, though only enough for her to squeeze uncomfortably through the opening.

"Don't do me no favors," she muttered as she cleared the Ishi Tib's bulk. Sitting alone at a table behind him with a solo-sabaac deck was a stubbly, scrawny man Nyk recognized from one or two previous visits, though she didn't know his name. The room was otherwise dank and empty.

"'Allo, Nyk," he said, obviously not suffering from the same problem of recognition.

"Good to see ya," she lied.

The man jerked a thumb toward a hallway that ran off behind him. "Boss's in the office," he said. "'E'll be interested'n that one."

Nyk nodded. "Thanks," she said, and glanced back over her shoulder at Cresdo one last time before pushing onward. This really was the part of the job she hated.


End file.
